


They're Blue

by VCCV



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 14:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11037876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VCCV/pseuds/VCCV
Summary: Feeling like an outcast, Puck drinks himself stupid with some cougars at the Regional performances. By the time he makes it back to the room, he’s completely incapable of taking care of himself. Good thing Kurt is rooming with him.





	1. Chapter 1

Puck sighed, shoving another piece of steak into his mouth as he watched the others’ celebration. They’d just stomped all over Vocal Adrenalin’s perfect winning streak at Regionals, and everyone was riding high. 

They’d voted on where to eat their victory dinner, and the ease of the hotel’s restaurant overcame the idea of eating at some pricey, upscale place. Puck was pretty glad the vote went the way it did—he was still trying to put money aside for the baby—but he hadn’t participated in it. It was unlikely that, even if he had, he would have been noticed long enough to collect his vote.

Finn was still pissed at Puck and Quinn, although more so at Puck. Neither of the two had acknowledged Puck in any way, save for the choreography they performed. So, when the seating arrangements came up, Finn took over one table with the original members of Glee club; Quinn commandeered the second table containing the jocks and Cheerios.

Puck gathered from the bone-melting glares both parts of the broken couple gave him, that he wasn’t welcome at either table. The server dithered about, trying to convince Quinn’s group that the tables could fit six, but Puck was tired of fighting. He had no desire to put away an overpriced piece of meat in front of Quinn Fabray while she willed him with her mind to choke and die.

So, he waved off the server’s frantic babbling and took a seat nearby at a tiny, single person table. The kind that restaurants saved for losers who had no friends. He ate quickly and stood to return to his and Kurt’s room. As he walked past the bar, he heard a low whistle come from a corner booth. Glancing in that direction, he was startled to see two women checking him out, head to toe.

He smiled tightly and nodded once to them as he continued past the bar. Before he made it out the door, however, one of the women—an overly large-breasted blonde, materialized in front of him. When he jerked to a stop to keep from plowing her over, he felt someone press up against his back. A quick glance behind him showed the other woman—a not so overly endowed redhead—plastered to his ass.

“Hi,” Blondie said, breathily. “We were wondering if you’d like to join us for some drinks.” 

Actually, what he wanted was to hit a nearby convenience store and buy a six-pack of beer with his fake ID. Then he wanted to spend the rest of the evening getting soused and feeling sorry for himself. But, this way involved someone else footing the booze bill, and not being treated like a pariah for a while would be nice.

So, he agreed. The women led him back to their booth and wedged him between them on one side. He employed all of his cougar-baiting skills and, by the time he had downed three or four beers and a handful of shots, he had almost forgotten how miserable he’d been.

Then, the Gleeks finished their meals and walked by him on their way back to the rooms. The girls sneered at him in disgust even as Matt and Mike gave him indiscreet thumbs up. He could feel his face burning with shame, even if the dim lighting didn’t show it.

Kurt and Finn brought up the end of the mass migration. On their way past, he heard Kurt whisper to Finn, “I don’t think we should leave him down here. What if something happens?”

“Oh, I’m sure something is going to _happen_. I’m tired of watching his dick tricks. Leave him there. He’d just fuck up the mood.” Puck could almost feel Finn’s reply, his scathing words abrading skin and whatever little pride Puck had managed to resurrect in the last hour.

Kurt mumbled indistinctly for a moment, but grudgingly allowed Finn to drag him away. Puck closed his eyes briefly, squeezing them tightly as he got hold of himself. He snatched up his shot and drained it, and then he moved on to both ladies’ shots. He washed the burn down with his pounder of beer and sank back into the seat.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Blondie pouted, leaning in to rub her substantial breasts on his arm. Puck shook his head and almost immediately, regretted it. When his head stopped moving, the room didn’t. 

“Come on, gorgeous.” Ginger hooked her chin over Puck’s shoulder. “Don’t be sad. You’ve got nothing to be sad about.”

“Yeah, you have two hot women just dying to get their hands on your sexy body. What’s sad about that?” The women giggled, tracing patterns over his chest with their nails.

Puck sighed. “It’s just that those guys who walked past--” He was cut off by a finger on his lips.

“That was a rhetorical question, baby,” Blondie said. “We really don’t care. We just want to get you naked.”

“Mmm,” hummed Ginger in agreement. “Naked and wet.”

Puck blinked once in confusion. “But, you asked.”

Blondie shook her head. “We asked to be nice. But we’ve decided we want to be naughty instead.” She leaned back and adjusted her tiny top; her cleavage pressed against the low-cut collar like it was trying to escape. “Wouldn’t you rather be naughty, baby?”

“Okay, so is every bitch out there just looking at me for a piece of ass?” He frowned, trying to remember why he thought that was bad.

Blondie gave a sultry laugh, leaning forward and chucking him under the chin with her inch-long lacquered nails. “Well, honey. You do have a mighty fine ass. And, I’m sure you have very fine…other parts, too.” She reached under the table and gave his cock a squeeze through his jeans.

Oh, yeah. That’s why. “Yeah, I do have very fine other parts!” He shoved her hand off of his package. “I have a brain, too. Which you probably can’t tell now, because I’m just a little fucked up,” he admitted grudgingly.

“Sweetie, we don’t give a shit about your brain.” Ginger laughed.

“Not exactly the part we’re interested in,” Blondie agreed.

“Well, it should be! He glared. “I have a brain. And I have feelings. And I’m really fucking tired of ending up in second place every fucking time!”

“Baby, you’re not second place with us,” Blondie reassured him.

“Oh, no. We’ll make sure you feel like a grand prize winner.”

Puck squinted, trying to bring them in focus. “That so?”

Ginger raked a nail up his inseam. “Oh, yeah. Very so.”

“You gonna be there tomorrow?” The women exchanged confused glances. 

“What?”

“You know, tomorrow?” Puck waved his hand in a vague gesture meant to convey all the words his booze-soaked brain couldn’t quite put together. “In the morning?”

Another exchanged look between the women; this time, though, it was incredulous. “Uh, no. We have a flight to catch tomorrow morning. But we’ll make sure you get back to your room when we’re done with you,” Ginger added, leaning in to nuzzle Puck’s ear.

“What if I want to stay?” Puck persisted. “What if I want to cuddle and sleep and wake up with you in the morning?” Ginger leaned back with a harsh laugh. Blondie just shook her head. “Ha! I knew it. Why does everything always have to be just about sex?” Puck asked mournfully.

“Look, sweetie,” Blondie smiled, condescendingly patting Puck’s hand. “You just need to have some fun. You’re not going to find your one true love in a crappy hotel bar.”

“You shouldn’t want to,” added Ginger. “You’re still young. What are you? 22? 23?”

Puck snorted. “I’m 17.”

He didn’t notice their eyes widen, but he did notice their hands slipping off of his crotch and chest. When he peered at them in confusion, they were darting nervous glances around the room.

“Okay. You know what, honey? You’re just a little too far gone right now.” Blondie almost whispered. “Why don’t you just go on up to your room?” Ginger nodded frantically while scrounging in the bottom of her purse.

She pulled out a handful of money and dropped it on the table. Carefully, she crawled over Puck into the aisle next to the booth. Blondie grabbed her arm and they hurried through the frosted glass double doors and out of the restaurant.

A bit bewildered about what just happened, Puck sat for a few minutes before shrugging and finishing off both abandoned glasses of wine. His lip curled as the too-sweet liquid hit his tongue, but he couldn’t in good conscience waste alcohol.

He managed to get up and out of the restaurant before the floor started trying to pitch him onto his face. The next few minutes flew by in a haze and he didn’t quite figure out what was happening until he was propped against the wall in the hotel hallway.

He blinked, perplexed. “Isn’t that my room?” he asked, pointing at the door across from him.

“Yes, sir.”

Puck suddenly noticed the body standing in front of the door. “Who’re you?” The body pushed his door open and turned to face him.

“I’m Jimmy, your bellhop, sir. And this is your room. Why don’t you let me help you into it?” Jimmy smiled cheerfully. His teeth were huge.

“Why are they so big?” Puck asked, trying to pin down which Jimmy was the real one. He’d just decided the middle one had to be. It was always the middle one.

“Why are what so big, sir?”

“Your teeth.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.” Jimmy’s face became more pinched. “Let’s just head on in here and then you can sleep on it.”

Puck nodded absently as the three Jimmys coalesced into one. “I’m sharing a room with Hummel. Don’t put me on his bed.” 

Jimmy gently pushed Puck into the room. “I’m sure Mr. Hummel will take excellent care of you, sir.”

Puck barked a laugh. “Kurt Hummel? Take care of me? That’s a joke.”

Jimmy just nodded and quickly stepped back out into the hall, closing the door after him. Puck snorted. “Whatever. I don’t need anyone to take care of me, anyway. I’m just--”

He felt his stomach flip, and its contents began making a return visit. He bolted for the bathroom and threw himself to his knees. He made it to the toilet with barely a second to spare before his medium/well-done steak and garlic mashed potatoes saw the light of day again.

As he heaved for possibly the sixth time, he wondered how the hell his stomach had held all of that. He also reminded himself that The Exorcist was not a movie he wanted to rewatch anytime soon.

When he was certain that everything, back to the grape slush he’d drank the day before, now resided in the toilet bowl, he slipped to the floor. He promised himself that he’d get up in just a minute. But the bed was so far away, and he was so exhausted. Just a bit longer.

Kurt waved a final time and stepped out into the hallway. While he was thrilled that they’d won, and he really liked his fellow Gleeks, he could listen to only so many pointed digs and thinly veiled insults before going postal on everyone.

And, he was tired. And needed at least eight hours of beauty sleep. And had a whole evening skin regimen he needed to do before bed. He sighed. Okay, and he was a little worried about Puck and wanted to see if he’d actually gone with the cougars that were hanging off of him earlier.

He unlocked their door and slipped in. The room was dark. He definitely did _not_ feeling a weight settle in his chest. He threw his room key on the dresser and moved to the bathroom. Before he’d gotten much further than flicking the light on, he nearly fell over a body lying on his bathroom floor.

He managed to choke down the shriek that tried to escape, and in the next second, had identified the body as Puck’s. He leaned back against the doorjamb, trying to decide if he were happy that Puck was here, or disgusted that he’d obviously gotten sloppy drunk. A low, pathetic moan made his decision for him.

He sighed, and then leaned over Puck’s form to flush the horrific contents of the bowl. The rushing sound of water next to his head brought Puck fully awake. His head jerked up and Kurt could see the overly bright eyes and pale face.

Puck groaned and let his head fall back to the floor, covering his eyes with his arm. “Of course, it’s you.”

“Who else would it be?” Kurt stepped over Puck’s legs and snagged the washcloth from its metal holder. “We are sharing a room, you know.” He turned on the cold water and soaked the cloth.

“I was hoping it was whoever poisoned me coming to finish me off.” 

Kurt chuckled and knelt at Puck’s side. “Poison, huh?”

Puck nodded weakly. “They poisoned me, and then they left me.”

Kurt frowned. “You were dumped? After they’d spent all that money to get you drunk?”

“Told ‘em I was 17.” Puck grinned faintly. “They ran like hell.” He flinched when something cold touched his neck.

“Sorry,” Kurt whispered, and Puck let his arm fall away from his face. Kurt gently ran the cold cloth across Puck’s nape.

It felt so good against Puck’s skin. He feebly pushed into it. He heard a bit of scrabbling behind him, but ignored it in favor of rolling his head against the cloth’s chilled wetness.

A moment later, his head was carefully lifted from its porcelain pillow onto something warmer and infinitely softer. The world spun for a few seconds, then the washcloth traveled from his nape around to his throat. It dipped briefly into his open-necked shirt, and then skimmed up over his right cheek. It continued up to his forehead and then moved back down over his left cheek.

He moaned in relieved pleasure as the cloth made its way over his eyes, over his lips and then returned to his nape to begin the cycle again. He didn’t know how long he lay there, melting into the soft pillow, when the coolness left.

He knew that any movement larger than blinking his eyes would result in throwing up again, or he would have jerked upright. As such, he cracked his lids to peek up. He was looking right into Kurt Hummel’s eyes.

He struggled to remember just how something this bizarre had come about, but then he noticed Kurt’s ridiculously long eyelashes. They made a soft, dark frame around his concerned blue eyes. 

He peered closer. They were blue, weren’t they? Maybe they were green. Maybe he was projecting his own rather ‘green’ feeling, because just then, they turned blue once more.

“Weird,” he said absently. Th—wait, did they just go green again?

“What’s weird?”

“Your eyes.” Said eyes widened a fraction. 

“What about them?”

No, blue. Definitely blue. Probably. Maybe.

“Puck?” Kurt asked after a long silence.

Puck blinked owlishly. “They’re pretty.” 

Those eyes widened further. “Wow. You really are out of it,” Kurt laughed hesitantly. “We need to get you off of this floor, Puck. Can you stand?”

Was he wearing mascara? Puck peered intently at the feathery lashes. Probably not. All the girls he’d ever looked at this closely had clumpy lashes when they’d worn mascara.

“Puck? Can you hear me?” 

And they weren’t black. They were the same color as Kurt’s eyebrows. Which, though nicely shaped, had a wild pointing-in-the-other-direction thing going on. He thought Kurt would probably drop his head back onto the floor and rush for the mirror if he told him, though.

“Okay, you are apparently not in there,” Kurt muttered. He heaved Puck into a sitting position. Puck thought the messed up eyebrows made Kurt look more reachable. Less like a cold boy-queen and more like a boy. 

Oh, holy shit, why was the world rolling? Were they having an earthquake? Did they have earthquakes in Ohio? 

Kurt got to his feet, a difficult task to do while holding up 175 pounds of muscled, drunk male. He put his hands under Puck’s arms and hoisted him up. Puck flailed for a moment.

Shit! Was the earthquake in the middle of a tornado? Why the hell was everything spinning? Frantically, Puck made his noodle weak legs find the floor under him. His stomach roiled in protest, and he swayed helplessly.

Small but strong arms slid around his waist and pulled him closer, supporting his weight. “It’s okay, Puck. We’re just going over to your bed. It’s about 10 feet away. Can you make it 10 feet?”

Puck was pretty sure he couldn’t make it 10 inches, but moved his feet obediently anyway when the arms persistently tugged at him. It may as well have been 10 miles. He lost track about the time he gave a heroic effort to hold in the final remains of his dinner…and failed.

“Oh my God, that’s disgusting!” The voice was horrified, but the wiry arms never let go of him. He felt a little bit better after throwing up. The world cleared for a minute or two. Long enough to notice he was being gently lowered onto a bed.

“What…? he managed.

“Ah, back with us, are you?”

“Hummel?” He turned his head to see the other boy leaning over him. 

“I’m going to have to take your clothes off.”

Take his-- Christ! Did everyone just want to fuck him?

“I’m sorry. I promise I won’t grope you or anything.”

No groping? How the hell was he supposed to get hard with no groping? How the hell was he supposed to get hard for a guy at all? He felt his left shoe come off. He shook his head minutely, regretting it when a swelling of nausea came back.

He supposed it wasn’t impossible to say that he couldn’t get hard for a guy. After all, he was a teenaged boy. He could get hard eating ice cream. And gay sex couldn’t be that different from regular sex. He was pretty sure Kurt wasn’t going to want to pitch. So, all he had to do while Kurt got off on him was think of ice cream.

He looked blearily down his body as he felt his right shoe come off. Kurt smiled up from his position at Puck’s feet. Huh. Kurt didn’t smile with his teeth. Everyone smiled with their teeth. That bellboy smiled with his teeth. He smiled with his teeth. Well, not when he was smirking. But that was totally different.

“I’m going to undo your pants, now. Don’t freak out and kick me in the face.”

Not that it was a bad smile. It was actually kind of cute. The creases on either side of Kurt’s mouth deepened and bunched his cheeks up. It crinkled the skin next to his eyes, too.

“Okay, I’m taking them off now.” 

Puck felt his legs being pulled off and he frowned. How was that possible? They were attached, right?

“Okay! That’s more than I ever needed to know about you, Puck.”

He felt his briefs tugged back into place. Why was Kurt pulling his underwear up? He knew gay sex was weird, but he didn’t think it involved still wearing your underwear.

“You’re not going to throw up again, are you?” He heard a scuffle and then a thunk next to his head. “Okay, the garbage is right next to the bed. Although you may think it’s easier to puke down your own chest again, I have to remind you that if you don’t turn your head, you may asphyxiate yourself in your own vomit.”

Small fingers scratched lightly at his belly, and he felt his shirt being eased out from under him. It kind of tickled. He smiled faintly at the idea of Kurt Hummel tickling him. He wasn’t all that ticklish, but he bet that Kurt was. He’d bet Kurt was a squealer. He pictured Kurt curled up, arms around his stomach, teeth showing in a real smile, tears of laughter streaming down his cheeks.

“I’m going to wash you off first, then I’ll get you under the covers, okay?”

Wash him off? What the hell? It’s not like he was going to catch Puck’s straight cooties. Puck was actually miffed for a moment. “Now, don’t panic. I’m just getting this mess off of your skin before it dries. I’m not pawing you or anything.”

Oh. No cootie washing then. But, wait…was Kurt actually going to give him a sponge bath? No. Couldn’t be. He glanced down again to see Kurt wringing out a washcloth into a little bucket. His little bunchy cheeks were flushed red enough to start a fire. Puck flopped his head back down and smiled.

In another moment, he felt the return of the cool cloth, this time on his chest. He sucked in a breath at the sudden chill, then relaxed into it to the sound of soft shushes. 

Then, the cloth was gone again and Puck felt himself carefully turned onto one side. The blankets were tugged out from under him and he was rolled back. After the cool of the air against his wet skin, the blankets felt fantastic.  
He felt the covers tucked under him, like his mom used to do light years ago when she wasn’t drinking herself into a stupor every night. 

Hmmm. Drinking. Wasn’t that how he’d gotten here in the first place? He frowned. Was he turning into his mother? Christ. That was more depressing than being used as a portable sex toy.

“Hang on, Puck; I’ll be right back.”

Back? Where was he going? Puck tried to sit up, but the room began spinning, and he couldn’t get a very good grip on the bed. He gave up and carefully lay back against the pillow. 

He’d left. Kurt had left him. They always left him. Or kicked him out. Or cried. He hated when they cried. They could have been yowling like a cat in heat, moaning his name and God’s, but as soon as he rolled off of them, it was all tears. He sucked at tears.

He bet Kurt wouldn’t cry. Well, okay. Maybe Kurt would cry. But he’d take a swing at you first. And he wouldn’t talk. Granted he gossiped like a hen, but Puck had never heard anything about Kurt’s love life. He had to have one, right? At least someone he was crushing on? 

He growled again. Finn. He’d bet his pool-cleaning business that Kurt had a crush on Finn. Fucking Finn. He could do anything Finn could. But, apparently, Finn did everything better. He took it all. Everything. Every last thing Puck wanted.

He heard the click of the lock disengaging on the door; he turned his head vaguely in that direction. Kurt! Kurt was back. Wait. When did Kurt leave? But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was back. He hadn’t gone running off to Finn for help. 

Not that Puck would let Finn help. There’s only so many times a guy can say he’s sorry and try to fix a broken friendship alone before he gives up, after all. And Puck had met and exceeded that limit. If Finn came through that door behind Kurt, Puck vowed to puke on his shoes.

But no one came in after Kurt. Kurt dumped several bottles on the dresser before heading into the bathroom. Puck heard the sound of rushing water, and then Kurt was back at his bedside. 

He heard a quiet clunk, and then Kurt was running that washcloth over Puck’s face. He smiled slightly, and then froze. That washcloth? Didn’t Kurt use that washcloth to scrub--? His eyes flew open and darted uneasily toward the cloth.

Kurt chuckled. “Don’t worry. It’s clean. I got some extras when I went to get you some bottled water.” Puck settled down, relieved and let Kurt run the cloth over his face and neck. After a moment, a folded cloth was placed on his forehead and, oh…the beautiful cold seeped through his hot skin and into his wickedly fried brain.

“Puck, you need to get some water down. I know you don’t want any more liquids, but you have to drink some water. Okay? Please?”

It was the please that got him. It was the please, every time. He nodded slightly and then felt Kurt’s hand under his head. With Kurt’s help, he lifted his head far enough from the pillow to get the bottle into his mouth. The cool, clean taste of the water was almost more than he could take. He gave a whine as the water bottle was taken away.

“Not too fast. We don’t want you barfing again. Just small sips until we’re sure you won’t regurgitate.”

Regurgitate. What a weird word. Not that it surprised him. Kurt was full of weird words. In fact, most everything about him was weird. Which made Puck wonder why he was so drawn to the guy.

It wasn’t like he was ‘in love’ with him or anything. He wasn’t even sure they were friends. But he knew the kind of person Kurt was, and he would be hard pressed to find another person as loyal as Kurt Hummel.

It made Puck sad that he couldn’t actually say Kurt was his friend. Not and live it down. But he hoped Kurt understood by his actions. Kurt hadn’t been slushed in weeks, nor had he been shoved into a locker, or had a note taped onto his back. Puck made sure that wasn’t going to happen; in return, if all he got were those odd little half smiles, then it was okay. 

Kurt lifted his head again for another swig of water, and then he eased it down, straightening the washcloth on Puck’s forehead. “I got you some stuff for the morning. Some Pepto, and some ibuprophen. Ah, and a pair of sunglasses. I didn’t notice that you had any, and you’re going to want some when we leave tomorrow.”

Puck nodded, and then caught his breath. His stomach protested all the movement, and he felt the water coming back up. Desperately, he leaned over so fast that he nearly fell off of the bed. Only Kurt’s small hands catching his arm stopped him from going headfirst into the puke bucket.

And then all he knew was heaving. Gagging. More heaving. Then some dry heaving thrown in to be special. When he was done, he lay curled up on his side, panting.

Gentle hands rolled him back over and a washcloth--he hoped it was a clean one--was wiped over his mouth. He felt Kurt’s weight lifting off of the bed, and Puck threw his arm out quickly. “No,” he whimpered. “Please stay.”

Kurt looked deeply at him for long moments. Nope. They were blue. The crinkling appeared at Kurt’s eyes. 

“What are blue?”

“Your eyes. Finally decided on blue.”

“Ah, I see.” Puck could hear the amusement in Kurt’s voice. “Well, far be it from me to disagree with a drunken proclamation.”

Puck frowned. “They aren’t blue?”

Kurt laughed. “No, they’re blue. I guess I just thought you ignored my existence, much less my eyes. Sorry.”

“I tried to. I ignored you. Until I couldn’t anymore. Then I stopped; then this weird liking you thing fell into my lap.”

“I should let you get some rest,” Kurt said, hesitantly.

“No!” Puck said again. His eyes flew open, staring pleadingly into Kurt’s. “Please, just…just stay with me. I promise I won’t puke on you, or rub on you. I’ll keep my hands to myself. I just…I’m just tired of being alone.”

Kurt’s eyes softened. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll stay.” Puck smiled, satisfied, and let his eyes fall closed again.

“Here, let me--” He heard the rustle of clothing, and then felt the covers lifted. A warm body clad in an undershirt and boxers suddenly crowded him. He rolled onto his back, then onto his other side, facing Kurt. He curled his legs up, tucking them in against the underside of Kurt’s leg.

He flung his arm around Kurt’s waist and pulled him in. Softer than the pillow, he thought, laying his head on Kurt’s chest. And warm. And there were hesitant arms closing around his shoulders.

He smiled and snuggled down into the crook between Kurt’s head and neck, huffing slightly in pleasure.

“Puck? Puck, are you asleep? You do know what you’re doing, right? Who you’re wrapped around?” Kurt sounded worried. Puck was just too close to the darkness to figure out why. So, he didn’t bother.

“Okay. I hope you do,” Kurt whispered. He glanced down at the head resting on his chest, at the arm thrown over his belly. And it was okay. He’d figure out which side of his face Puck would pound in tomorrow. For now, he just settled down and enjoyed.

Puck felt Kurt’s body relax and that drove the last of the tension out of his own body. With a huge sigh, Puck allowed himself to just be. And sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

Puck woke the next morning feeling like he’d been sucking on one of his gym socks. His head was pounding and the slightest movement made every part of his body hurt. Even the thin line of sun coming in from the bottom of the thick hotel curtains was like a firebrand in his eyes.

But, he had to piss, and that took precedence over everything else. He warily opened his eyes and that’s when he found himself staring at something he never thought he’d see in his entire life.

Another guy in his bed. Not just another guy, but fucking Kurt Hummel. In his bed. Next to him. He squeezed his eyes shut and then cautiously opened one back up. 

Nope. Not dreaming. He desperately tired to remember why Hummel would be in his bed. The covers were kicked down to the bottom of the bed, and Kurt lay uncovered, sleeping peacefully. Puck swept his eyes over Kurt’s form.

He had a tiny smile curving up the corner of his lips, and his face was relaxed and serene. Puck wasn’t at all used a that look on Hummel’s face. Especially around Puck.

Jesus Christ, that boy had long lashes. He paused a moment as a feeling of déjà vu came over him. He shook it off and continued watching Kurt. Kurt wore a plain white t-shirt and a pair of grey boxers. The colors reinforced how pale and thin he was.

He looked like a cross between a lost waif and a boy angel. His whole body was so small, and he looked like one good punch could break him. Puck frowned. Kurt may have been small, but Puck remembered strength. Strength that held him up, nearly carrying him from the bathroom where he’d laid down after…

Shit. Last night. He got completely wasted with those bitches and made it to his room just in time to hurl. It was all a bit fuzzy after that. He remembered the vertigo, and the unsteady floor. Or maybe that was his legs.

He remembered…long eyelashes and a smile with no teeth. What the hell? What had he drunk? He looked closely at Kurt’s still features. Well, he had the eyelashes. And he was sort of smiling. With no teeth. 

His stare stopped and hovered over Kurt’s eyebrows. Very nicely groomed, but then Puck was sure he tweezed and waxed and …whatever girls did to their body hair. They were perfect, except for one tiny grouping of hairs right at the corner of his brow. Those were pointing straight up.

Puck grinned at this little piece of non-perfection. He frowned at the niggling little feeling that he was missing something, and then shook his head. Whatever.

He pushed himself into a sitting position and waited in morbid curiosity to see if his head would actually blow off. When the pain diminished a bit, he glanced back down at Kurt. He was lying with one arm held out, open as if…someone were laying, nestled in the crook of his shoulder. Puck blushed furiously as he realized that someone had been him.

He gingerly got out of bed, glancing down his own body as he did so. What the hell? He was almost naked! Why the fuck would he be almost naked in a bed with Kurt Hummel who was obviously holding him all night?

His head began pounding again and he clutched at his temples tightly. He took one shuffling step after another until he reached the bathroom. He fumbled for the light switch and nearly howled in pain when, after finding it, he flicked it on.

Desperately, he searched for the switch again, accidentally hitting the one beside it at the same time. When the evil light went out, only a small light above the shower stall remained. It still hurt, but it was enough for him to see where the hell to piss.

He relieved himself and turned to lean on the counter. Turning the cold water on, he splashed his face. The cold brought another flash of memory: a cool cloth, wiping his sweating neck, running over his hot cheeks.

Hummel? He didn’t think it very likely, but then before this morning, he considered waking up in bed with the Top Tinkerbell at McKinley High was unlikely, too.

He glanced at the mirror. He looked like total shit. His face was pale; his eyes were bloodshot and swollen; he had circles under his eyes. 

He reached for the toothbrush and paste he’d laid out the night before. Before going down to dinner. A dinner that he ate alone. He looked back at the mirror and wondered absently if this were to be how he’d spend every morning: hangover from hell, disgusted with himself…and alone.

He quickly brushed his teeth, trying not to gag on the brush, and swished some water around in his mouth. With a final disgusted look in the mirror, he moved back into the bedroom. He found his clothes from last night in a pile by the front door, along with several washcloths.

As he got closer, he realized why they were so far from the bed. He gagged and spun back toward the bathroom, holding his hand over his mouth. He closed his eyes and breathed shallowly for long moments.

When he had himself under control, he went looking for his bag. He found it next to the other bed, his bed. Which meant that he had been sleeping in Kurt’s bed, not the other way around. Christ, what the fuck had happened last night?

He pulled out a shirt and pants and made his way back into the bathroom. The hot water felt good on his sore muscles and scrubbing the last remnants of filth off of his skin felt even better. 

He got out of the shower, wrapping the towel around his waist. He pulled out his electric shaver and did a quick touch up over his face, then reached for his underwear. Which he realized weren’t there. He’d forgotten to bring a pair in with the rest of his clothes.

Well fuck. He sure as hell wasn’t wearing this underwear from last night, so he sighed and opened the bathroom door. As he walked through the room to his suitcase, he heard a sharp intake of breath and he glanced over at the bed where Kurt slept. Only he wasn’t sleeping anymore.

He was propped on his elbows staring with widened eyes. Puck watched Kurt’s gaze travel from his feet, up his legs, stutter over his crotch and move onto his chest. A faint blush added to the wide-eyed staring as Kurt’s eyes crept slowly up Puck’s stomach and over his chest.

Another little stutter as Kurt reached his nipple ring, then up to his shoulders, quick side trip to his arms, and then up to his neck, and then…he met Puck’s eyes. Puck smirked at him, enjoying the deepening of the blush into a bright red.

“Morning Hummel.”

Kurt stammered and blinked furiously, but managed to squeak out morning before subsiding into the wide-eyed wonder again. Puck held up a pair of boxers. “Forgot to bring these in with me.”

Puck didn’t think Kurt could get any redder, but he managed. “Oh. That’s…that’s…how are you feeling this morning?”

Puck shrugged, silently comparing the pain in his head to the fun he could have tormenting Kurt. But Kurt had obviously taken care of him last night, if all evidence were true. And Puck was a dick, but he wasn’t an ungrateful dick.

“I feel like shit,” he smiled. “Thanks for asking.” Kurt nodded and began to fidget with the tail of his shirt. He seemed to realize that he was in just his underwear and a t-shirt a moment later, because he reached down and jerked the comforter up around his chest.

Puck smirked again and had to push it. He dropped his towel and stepped into his boxers. The intake of breath was followed by a tiny squeak this time, and he glanced up through his lashes to see that Kurt’s face turning fire truck red. His eyes were huge.

Blue? Green? Puck mentally shook himself wondering what the hell that was about, and finished tugging his boxers into place under Kurt’s mesmerized stare. He strutted back into the bathroom to finish getting dressed. He smiled, even in the face of the pounding pain in his temples and weak legs that trembled like some freshman weightlifting newbie.

He leaned back against the door and closed his eyes against the sharp pain that seemed to have settled behind the left one. That had been hilarious. He hadn’t thought that a person could reach that shade of red.

He also had never had that kind of reaction to his nude body before, either. Usually, it was a lot of approving moans and lip licking followed by a highly lacquered nail beckoning him forward. Which, by itself, was exceedingly hot, but when compared to the bright red face, huge doe-eyes and tiny meeping noise, came out strangely lacking.

He absolutely was not gay, his list of conquests proved that. But when Kurt had scanned Puck’s body, head to toe, Puck had felt oddly like preening. Which was wrong. And weird. Noah Puckerman did not preen for guys. Unless it was to show off how much hotter he was than them. Which totally was not gay. It was just what guys did. Hell, even Hummel did it; preened about in his fruitcake outfits with his stupid floppy hair and his perfect skin.

Puck sighed heavily and pushed himself off of the door. He finished getting his shirt and pants on, rubbed on his deodorant and tossed one more splash of cold water into his face. Then, he opened the bathroom door and stepped out.

Kurt was still on the bed, but now he had a pile of clothes and small bags around him. He blushed again as soon as he caught sight of Puck. He put a rather pained smile on his face and began gathering up his belongings.

“Are you done in there?”

Puck eased himself down on the bed to put on his socks. “Yeah. I’m gonna get my shoes on and then go down and get something to settle my stomach.”

Kurt nodded, standing, arms full of who the hell knew what. “I brought you up some painkiller and something for the nausea last night.” He jerked his chin toward the dresser. “You can keep them with you if you want.”

Puck paused in his shoe tying. Kurt still had flushed cheeks, and he couldn’t meet Puck’s eyes, but his brows were creased in worry and he appeared not to be willing to move until Puck had answered him.

Puck smiled, an inappropriate, tiny ‘awww’ sounding off in the back of his brain. He blinked in confusion, and then nodded shortly.

“Thanks. I think I’ll do that.”

“Make sure you put something in your stomach first before you take the ibuprophen,” Kurt warned, edging back toward the bathroom door. “You’ll be even sicker if you don’t.”

“Yes, mother,” Puck smirked.

“I’m serious, Noah. And drink a lot of liquid. You have a headache because your brain is dehydrated, and let’s face it; you can’t do with much more brain damage before you’re completely useless.”

Puck raised his eyebrows and stood up menacingly. Kurt ducked into the bathroom but peered back around the door. “I mean it, Noah. Lots of liquids.”

Puck grinned and sat back on the bed to finish tying his other shoe. “Yeah, Hummel. I heard you.” He paused for a moment. “Hummel?”

Kurt poked his head out of the bathroom. “Yes?”

Puck hesitated. “I don’t actually remember all of what happened last night. Just bits and pieces. But I remember you. I remember that you took care of me.” He ducked his own head, transferring his gaze to the ugly patterned carpet beneath his shoes. “Maybe I could have done it myself, and maybe I couldn’t. Either way, thanks.”

His words fell away into silence and, after a long moment, he looked up with a frown. Kurt stood in the doorway, a wobbly smile on his face and a disturbing sheen to his eyes. 

“You’re welcome, Noah.”

With that, he stepped back inside and closed the door. A moment later, Puck heard the sound of running water. He sighed and ran a hand over his hair before getting up and throwing his things back into his bag. 

He hesitated at his filthy clothes from the night before, but even though the thought of touching them was disgusting, he knew that he didn’t own enough clothes to be able to just throw these away. So, he rooted around until he’d found a plastic bag from one of the convenience stores they’d stopped at.

He held his breath as he balled the puke-covered garments up and shoved them into the bag. He shoved the plastic sack into an outside pocket and zipped it closed with a rush of air. 

He waited for a second as the brief lack of air had increased the pounding in his skull to nearly unmanageable levels. Once he had control of himself again, he threw his bag over his shoulder and slowly began to move.

When he opened the door to the hallway, he took a final sweep of the room and felt a small pang of sadness. He may have been drunk off his ass and he couldn’t seem to remember anything important, but he did remember that, for a short time, he hadn’t felt lonely. He hadn’t felt inadequate.

He’d felt safe and cared about. And that it was Kurt Hummel that had given that to him? Didn’t seem to matter as much as it once did.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after...Kurt's POV.

Kurt finished tucking away the final bottle of hair product and stood up, eyeing the room to make sure nothing had been left behind. When his gaze fell on one perfectly made bed and one that looked as though a tornado had struck it, he blushed.

Briefly, he wondered what the hotel cleaning staff would think. Mentally thwacking himself, he rolled his eyes. Why would they care? They didn’t know him. They didn’t know anything about him. And he was sure they probably didn’t want to. He was just being paranoid.

Although, paranoia was certainly a normal response to what had happened last night. He’d woken up to a sudden chill along his side, and had tried to roll back into the warmth that had been heating him all night. When he heard rustling, he opened his eyes to see Noah Puckerman standing in front of the other bed.

In a towel. In _only_ a towel. In only a _minuscule_ towel that didn’t really hide much. So he squeaked. Which only served to bring Noah’s attention to him. Kurt’s eyes dropped to Noah’s toes to give him--and his _ridiculously short towel_ \--a small bit of privacy. Maybe he’d somehow drank himself stupid last night too, because there was no way that an unimpaired person should find Noah’s feet so intriguing.

His toes were long, but not prehensile long. Toes that could double as fingers were a definite turnoff. But Noah’s toes were just…perfect. The nails were trimmed, the heels were smooth, he didn’t have hairy hobbit feet. 

Kurt realized he was rabbiting on his head about feet and that there was a whole, wide world of tan, muscled…wet Puck to look at. His gaze wandered up muscled, lightly dusted with hair…wet calves, to knees to thighs and then….

He stared at the towel wrapped around lean hips as though it held the answers to the universe. Christmas and birthdays be damned, he had never wanted to unwrap something so badly in his life. With painful force, he pulled his attention from the mysteries beneath Noah’s towel and continued up past his abs.

He got stuck on the nipple ring. Of course he did. But it wasn’t like he was perving on Puck. If Puck hadn’t wanted people to look at his…nipples, then he wouldn’t have pierced one. Right? Kurt realized that no amount of rationalization was going to make it through the sight of that gold hoop piercing a hardened nipple.

He moved on, trying desperately to find something to distract him from the shininess. Ah, shoulders. Which were muscular, too. And tanned. And connected to two very strong, manly arms. Which were also dusted with dark hair. 

Moving up, moving up, he chastised himself. Past the shoulders to Puck’s neck and onto Puck’s hazel eyes that were…holy shit, looking back at him!  
He felt his face grow hot and he sucked in a lungful of air before his throat could completely close up.

“Morning, Hummel.”

Crap! What was he supposed to say? Sorry for perving on you? Nice nipple ring? Can I lick the water off of your…everything? “Y-you’re…and I…and…um. Morning, Noah.”

Puck grinned and held up a pair of boxers from within his bag. “Forgot to bring these in with me.” Kurt nearly choked on his own tongue.

“Oh. That’s…that’s…how are you feeling this morning?”

Puck shrugged, and smiled. “I feel like shit. Thanks for asking.”

Kurt knew that if he opened his mouth again, he’d be sorry. So he just nodded winding his fingers up in his t-shirt. His undershirt. Which he had worn to bed. With his boxers. And nothing else.

Shit. He spotted the comforter half thrown on the floor and lunged for it. Jerking it up over his half naked body, he peered out from behind its safety.  
Which was a very good idea. Because a moment later, Puck dropped the towel. On the ground. Not on his waist. Nothing covering his…

Kurt wondered if men could get cock-cramps from filling so quickly. He made a sound he hoped he’d never make again. It was beyond shrill. It was positively squeakish. He was mortified to realize that he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Puck’s cock, watching until every. Last. Inch. Was covered by his boxers.

Puck turned back to the bathroom, hopefully to put more clothes on, and Kurt swore he saw a bit more swing in Puck’s ass than usual. He sat slack-jawed for a ridiculous amount of time before he realized that, when Puck was done in the bathroom, it would be Kurt’s turn.

He leaped out of bed and frantically began gathering his morning body care paraphernalia. The last thing in the world Kurt wanted to do was wander around the hotel room in his own boxers, with a hard on, looking for facial scrub and spray-in mousse.

When the door opened and Puck stepped out—barefoot, fucking hell he was developing a kink—he smiled weakly. “Are you done in there?”

Puck sat on the other bed to put on his shoes and socks. “Yeah. I’m gonna get my shoes on and then go down and get something to settle my stomach.”  
Kurt nodded and stood; hoping the dangling pair of pants over his arm was hiding his hard on.

“I brought you up some painkiller and something for the nausea last night.” He couldn’t let go of his armload of shields, so he pointed with his chin to the dresser where he’d dropped them. “You can keep them with you if you want.”

He found that staring at the dresser was by far less intimidating than meeting Puck’s eyes. What he really wanted was to bolt for the bathroom like a scared animal, but he couldn’t just leave Puck to his pain without making sure he had something to cure it.

“Thanks. I think I’ll do that.”

“Make sure you put something in your stomach first before you take the ibuprophen,” Kurt warned as he inched backwards. “You’ll be even sicker if you don’t.”

“Yes, mother.” He could almost hear the smirk.

“I’m serious, Noah. And drink a lot of liquid. You have a headache because your brain is dehydrated, and let’s face it; you can’t do with much more brain damage before you’re completely useless.”

He only caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, but when Puck stood abruptly, Kurt darted for the bathroom. “I mean it, Noah. Lots of liquids.” From the safety of a room with a lock on it, Kurt poked his head back out the door. 

Puck sat back down with a grin. “Yeah, Hummel. I heard you.” He paused for a moment. “Hummel?” Puck’s voice sounded different. Softer, more weary than anything else.

Kurt poked his head out so he could see Puck. “Yes?”

“I don’t actually remember all of what happened last night. Just bits and pieces. But I remember you. I remember that you took care of me. Maybe I could have done it myself, and maybe I couldn’t. Either way, thanks.”

Kurt’s breath hitched and he felt his eyes begin to burn. Noah Puckerman letting someone like Kurt help him was unusual enough. But to get a thank you? And a heartfelt thanks you at that? Puck turned his head and Kurt smiled, trying not to embarrass himself.

“You’re welcome, Noah.”

He stepped back and gently closed the door. His vision began to blur and he knew that any moment, he’d start sniffling and Puck would know. Quickly, he turned on the faucet and, a moment later, he heard the hall door close.   
He got to work on his morning rituals and, if when he was showering, he spent thought or two on Noah? Well, no one else need know.

On his final check of the room, Kurt noticed something partially hidden by the fall of the other bed’s comforter. Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be Noah’s wallet. It had probably fallen out when Kurt was trying to wrestle the tight denim off and still stay vomit-free.

He stared at it, hating that he was thinking of doing what he was thinking of doing. He knew he would be furious if someone violated his privacy like that. But he couldn’t help himself. He opened the wallet, hoping to find some scrap of the Noah from last night and this morning amongst Puck’s things.

It was just a normal wallet. Driver’s license, debit card, condom—he blushed—a small bit of cash and…a white piece of paper folded up and placed down in the corner of the bill flap. 

Full of self-loathing, Kurt none-the-less pulled the paper out and opened it carefully. He stared at it in confusion before his brain kicked in and he realized just what he held.

A sonogram.

Questions flew through Kurt’s mind. How did Noah get it? Did Quinn know? What would Quinn do if she did know? Would it change her mind on letting Noah be a part of his daughter’s life?

Kurt sat down heavily on the bed and smoothed the paper out on his leg. His fingers ran across a bit that wasn’t as smooth as the rest, and on closer inspection, he identified it as water damage.

He knew that if Noah saw him with the sonogram, he’d claim that it was water from washing his hands, or maybe some spilled from a bottle as he drank. But Kurt could feel the truth, and those tears he managed to prevent a short time ago broke loose.

He imagined Noah sitting on his own bed at home, running his fingers over the image just as Kurt was doing now. His big hands gently holding the only picture that he might ever have of his daughter. And a tear or two escaping, unnoticed, to forever mar the perfection of her image.

Kurt closed his eyes. He didn’t quite know what had changed between them, but last night had been different. Noah had been different. Or maybe Noah had just really been Noah, finally letting someone else see him. 

Whatever else, Kurt knew he would never see only Puck again. Even if Puck remembered cuddling with Kurt and decided to punch him in the face after all, Kurt knew that he’d only have to close his eyes and remember this precious picture.

Puck may well have been flesh over steel; hot liquid sex; flippant and nasty mouthed. But Noah hid closer to the surface than anyone suspected.

And Noah? Was someone Kurt couldn’t wait to know.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast and the bus.

Once downstairs, Kurt detoured to drop his suitcase off at the bus, and then he headed in to the hotel restaurant for the second time in two days.

He pondered whether he should splurge on waffles, or stay true to his figure and just have yogurt and granola. He’d managed to talk himself into maintaining with the yogurt when he stepped through the doors of the restaurant.

He shouldn’t have been surprised to see the seating arrangement hadn’t changed from last night. After all, he may have had an epiphany about Noah, but no one else had.

Still, it sent a slow burn through his stomach to see Noah sitting like a gangrenous appendage at the Lonely Singles table. He was hunched over his menu, eyes plastered to it. It looked like he wanted to hide behind it, and only pride kept him from doing so.

Kurt looked over to the other two tables and saw that he had been mistaken. It wasn’t exactly the same seating arrangement. Rachel was no longer sitting across from Finn, gazing longingly at him. She was now practically in his lap, gazing adoringly up at him. Finn returned her enraptured looks with loopy smiles of his own. They also appeared to be sharing bites of food from each other’s plates.

Mercedes, Tina and Artie looked less than thrilled with the Finnchel show, but still smiled in all the right places. Not that Finn or Rachel took enough notice of them to care.

At the other table, Quinn sat seething next to Santana who was whispering in Quinn’s ear. Mike and Matt were shoveling food in their mouths as fast as they could chew and pointedly not making eye contact with the two girls. Brittany looked as happy as ever, probably not even getting how pissed off and uncomfortable her tablemates were getting.

When they saw him come through the door, Rachel waved frantically as though, somehow Kurt could miss the party of 11 in the middle of the room. He smiled at her and at Finn when he looked up and beamed at Kurt.

Mercedes, Tina and Artie looked so relieved that Kurt almost giggled. He gave a small wave in return but veered off before he made it to the table. He would have loved to see the looks fall off Finn and Rachel’s faces. However, he had more important things to do than revel in his own pettiness.

Well, perhaps a little reveling. But no more than one glance. Oh, yeah. It was totally worth it. Though he did feel a little bad after seeing the panicked looks on the faces of the other three.

Instead of his customary seat next to Mercedes, he flounced his way over to the Lonely Singles table and artfully arranged himself across from a wide-eyed Noah.

“Thank you,” he said to the waiter who handed him a menu. “I’ll start with some coffee, please? Thanks.” He opened his menu to a random page and perused the offerings. “So, what’s good? He asked. Have you ordered yet?”

‘Hummel, what the fuck are you doing?’ Puck muttered, shooting a dark look back at the rest of Glee.

“I’m eating breakfast with my roommate, Kurt replied, turning the page. “I thought I’d be good and stick with yogurt and granola, but you know what? Fuck it. I’m ordering the waffles with strawberries and whipped cream.” He closed his menu and set it on the edge of the table.

Puck glared at him and leaned forward. “You know what I mean. Are you trying to commit social suicide?”

Kurt laughed out loud. “Social suicide? Noah, I think, once again, that you’ve forgotten who I am.”

Puck frowned. “What do you mean, ‘once again’?”

Kurt mentally kicked himself. “Is there any particular reason you don’t want me to have breakfast with you?” he asked instead. Puck narrowed his eyes at Kurt’s evasion, but sat back in his chair. 

“No,” he answered. Then he smirked. “Is there any particular reason you want to have breakfast with me?”

“You’re my friend,” Kurt simply replied.

“Hummel I—“

“You’re my friend,” Kurt interrupted, staring Puck in the eye.

“You don’t—”

“You’re. My. Friend.” The third time was apparently the charm because Puck shut his mouth and picked up his spoon to fiddle with. Kurt smiled hugely. “So, what are you ordering?”

Puck gave a resigned sigh and placed his menu on top of Kurt’s. “I’d normally order bacon and eggs, but I seem to have developed a slight aversion to greasy food.”

Kurt grinned. “You should get waffles, too. I love waffles. My dad makes them once in a blue moon. He makes the best waffles.” Kurt sighed fondly.

Puck was about to reply when their waiter brought Kurt his coffee. “Are you ready to order, gentlemen?” Kurt nearly bounced in his seat as he ordered. Puck snorted. “And for you, sir?”

“I’ll have the same.”

“He’ll have a glass of orange juice, too,” Kurt said bossily. “And can you get us a pitcher of water, please?”

“Certainly, sir.”

“Thanks.”

Puck waited until the man was gone. “Are you planning on cutting up my food, too? Or are you going to go straight to feeding me like the new happy couple over there?”

Kurt stuck his tongue out childishly. He gave a shifty glance back to Finn and Rachel. They were deep in conversation, heads close together as they whispered.

“I told you, remember? You need to—”

“Drink plenty of liquids,” Puck chorused with Kurt. “Yeah, I remember.” Kurt flushed. If only he did remember. Wouldn’t that be a conversation?

“So, when are you going to tell me what I did last night that’s got you so friendly all of a sudden?”

Okay. So maybe this was going to be that conversation. “You didn’t do anything.”

Puck raised an eyebrow.

Kurt’s flush deepened. “You were drunk. You threw up a lot. You mumbled a bit. Then you fell asleep.” Kurt edited heavily the things he mumbled and how he fell asleep.

Puck searched his face suspiciously, but Kurt just smiled and shrugged. puck rolled his eyes, but went back to flipping his spoon over his fingers.  
“Your dad makes waffles, huh?”

“Yeah. They’re the best I’ve ever tasted,” Kurt nodded.

“What’s so special about them?”

“They’re huge. They cover the whole plate! They have crispy edges and golden brown middles. He heaps the strawberries and juice onto it and then pipes whipped cream around it like a fortress.”

Puck waited for more, but Kurt just stared off vaguely, a happy smile on his face. “That’s it? It sounds like every other strawberry waffle I’ve seen.”

Kurt’s eyes came back into focus and he blinked at Puck. “I guess you’re right,” he frowned.

“So, what makes them so special?”

Kurt shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because he only makes them when I’m having trouble? Maybe I associate feeling better with Dad’s waffles?” Puck snorted and wiped a hand over his mouth, attempting to hide a smile.

“What?” Kurt’s eyes narrowed.

“Only you, Hummel, could turn a tasty breakfast entrée into a psychological training exercise.”

“So? Don’t you have a favorite food that makes you feel good just by eating it?” Puck opened his mouth to deny any such food, but Kurt leaned in, brow furrowed in interest he seemed content to just sit and watch him patiently until he supplied an answer. So, Puck actually thought about it.

“I like chili cheese dogs.”

Surprise had the furrows in Kurt’s brow disappearing. “Chili cheese dogs?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, why?”

Puck shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I just like them, okay? Do I have to have a reason?”

“Well, I—” Kurt’s voice stumbled to a halt at the threatening look Puck sent him. “No. I suppose you don’t,” he said instead.

Puck humphed in satisfaction and traded his spoon for the saltshaker. They sat in silence for long minutes, Kurt avoiding eye contact and tracing invisible patterns on the table with his finger.

Puck heaved a sigh. “Fucking hell, Hummel.” Kurt looked up, startled. “When I was little, before Sarah was born, my dad used to take me to that hot dog vendor who parks outside the south entrance of the mall. You know the place?”

Kurt nodded, unwilling to interrupt this time. “He always bought me a chili cheese dog. I’d make a complete mess of myself. I think I wore most of the damn thing. When we were done, we’d walk home and he’d put me in the bathtub and…and we’d sing. Together.”

Puck snatched up the saltshaker and slammed it down back in its place at the center of the table. “So, there. Happy now?”

“That’s a beautiful memory, Noah,” Kurt said softly, adding chili cheese dogs to sonograms in the ‘Noah’ column.

Puck snorted in disdain. “Yeah. Great memory. Mom had Sarah the next year and he disappeared on us. Never saw him again.”

“I’m sorry,” Kurt offered sincerely. “I wish I could take the extra baggage away and let you just have the good memory.” Puck eyed him distrustfully, but Kurt’s gaze never wavered.

Finally, Puck rolled his eyes and he picked the saltshaker back up. “Yeah, Hummel. I’m sure you do. Nice guy to the core, aren’t you?”

“Not really,” Kurt took a drink of his coffee. “I just look small and weak. Everyone associates small, weak things with good intentions and good hearts.”

Puck gave a bark of laughter. “I’ll give you small, but you are anything but weak.”

Kurt smiled. “What makes you say that?”

“You practically carried me from the bathroom to the bed last night” Puck gave a small frown. “How’d you do that?”

Kurt shrugged. “It’s all in the legs. I’ve been dancing for years, so they’re pretty strong.”

“Didn’t I…?”

“Yeah,” Kurt grinned. “You puked all over yourself.”

Puck tanned skin turned a light pink before settling into green. “I’m sure you’ll get a lot of mileage out of that, Hummel. But do a guy a favor and let’s not talk about…”

“Vomit?” Kurt offered happily.   
Puck went a bit greener. “Yeah.”

Kurt grinned. “Okay. I can wait.” 

Puck mimicked Kurt’s ‘okay, I can wait’ and then the waiter was there with their food. Kurt inhaled the waffle, making happy moans with each bite. Puck started to look a bit uncomfortable and began shifting in his chair.

“What’s wrong?” Kurt asked. “You don’t like it?”

“No, it’s great.”

“Then what?”

Puck looked around cautiously, and then leaned in. “You sound like you’re fucking it.”

Kurt sat open mouthed for a moment, then dissolved into giggles. Puck glared at him, but it only made him laugh harder. Puck kicked him under the table, and Kurt cried out but still couldn’t stop laughing. He pulled his injured leg up onto the chair and tried to stifle his laughter into his knee.

“You suck, Hummel,” Puck grumbled petulantly.

“Actually, I don’t.” Kurt choked a bit on the end of his laughter. “Haven’t found the right guy, yet.”

Puck couldn’t help it. First the porn sounds, then the gay blowjob reference. He blushed. Which sent Kurt off into paroxysms of laughter again. His laughter was contagious. Puck fought it, but a small smile eventually crept onto his lips.

“Shut up and eat your waffles, Hummel,” he groused.

The rest of breakfast was surprisingly easy. Kurt had completely forgotten that they weren’t there alone, until the other Glee members started filing out the door behind Puck’s chair.

Finn and Rachel were the last to exit. Finn stopped by their table and after a single disapproving look at Puck, ignored him in favor of Kurt.  
“We’re getting ready to leave.”

“Okay,” Kurt smiled serenely. “We’re almost finished.” Finn hesitated, looking from Kurt—butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth—to Puck—he wouldn’t even look up from his plate. He started to say something, but Rachel tugged on his arm.

“Let’s go so we can get a good seat.”

Finn nodded absently, already moving his feet to follow Rachel, but unable to stop looking between Kurt and Puck. When the door shut behind them, Kurt heard a small sigh of relief and he was angry all over again.

“Finish your OJ,” he said, pushing the glass closer to Puck. “We can buy a bottle of water from the vending machine outside.” He puttered around, stacking his dishes, wiping crumbs into his hand and depositing them on top of the empty plates and then he pulled out his card.

When the waiter came back with the checks, he just shoved his card at him before the man could separate the orders. Puck didn’t say a word, which actually sort of worried Kurt. He was sure they’d have an argument about how Puck could take care of himself. But there was nothing.

Nothing was said when Kurt’s card came back and he signed, leaving a healthy tip. Nothing was said as the boys rose from the table and headed out the door. Nothing was said right up until the front door of the hotel, when Puck came to a halt and grasped Kurt’s arm to keep him from going any further. Kurt looked up at him curiously.

“Why are you doing this?” Puck asked one final time. He wasn’t quite hunching again, but he did look as though he were braced to take a football hit.

“Because you’re my friend,” Kurt replied again.

“Really?” Puck raised his eyebrows. “We’re friends? When did that happen?” Kurt just smiled at him fondly and pushed through the front door. 

Puck sighed, running his hand over his hair, and followed. He trudged up the bus steps and took a deep breath before scanning the bus for empty seats. What he saw wasn’t encouraging. Between the bags piled up in some seats and the bodies in the others, he was going to have to clear some bags out or ask someone if he could sit with them.

He figured the quickest, but also most painful, way was to ask to sit with someone. The person would move to sit with their friends and he’d have the seat to himself. He’d half drawn the courage to step up to Matt or Mike when Kurt stood up from the back seat and waved.

“Noah! Come back here and sit with me.” Every head on the bus turned in astonishment. Puck didn’t know what the hell was up with Hummel, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. While everyone’s heads were turned away, he moved.

Kurt ignored the stares. He knew he’d get shit for it later from…well, from practically everyone, but right here and now? He was Kurt goddamn Hummel and he could do whatever the hell he wanted. And right now, he wanted Puck to sit with him.

He was relieved when Puck didn’t argue or ignore him, but rather made a beeline for the back of the bus. He scooted in against the window and smiled at Puck as he swung into the seat.

“You are one crazy bitch, Hummel,” Puck whispered as he slumped down into the seat so he wouldn’t have to look at everyone staring at them.

Kurt just shrugged and offered Puck one earphone of his iPod. Puck knew he’d probably end up listening to two hours straight of Adam Lambert, but he found himself reaching out to take it.

As the bus started moving, sure enough, Mr. Lambert took center stage. Kurt happily stared out the window, mouthing the lyrics and gently bobbing his head.

The motion of the bus and the lack of sleep caught up to Puck, and he felt exhaustion creeping over him. He got comfortable, wedging his knees against the seat in front of him and crossing his arms, and then he let his eyes fall shut.

Just before sleep overcame him, he felt himself slipping sideways. He started to jerk himself back upright, but then felt a warm arm pull him further into the slip. He came to rest on something soft and nice-smelling, and he couldn’t seem to pry his eyes back open. He breathed in deeply, letting the clean scent surround him. And then, he fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at home.

Puck blinked slowly awake. It took him all of five seconds to go from prone to sitting upright, though, once he realized that he had fallen asleep—again—on Kurt Hummel.

"I'm—" His voice was rough and his tongue tasted like sock again. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to turn you into a travel pillow."

Kurt shrugged and smiled shyly. "It's okay. I don't mind. But," he added cheekily, "I have to say last night was more comfortable."

Puck smirked. "Well, don't get too attached, Princess. I generally prefer to be the big spoon." Kurt's eyes widened until Puck could see the white all around the iris. 

"Hey, just kidding, man." He shrugged the look off, trying not to let it bother him. But, he was totally not kidding. He would rather be the big spoon, but taking up the little spoon position with Kurt hadn't been half bad. "I'll try to keep falling asleep on you to a minimum," he joked.

Kurt nodded and looked down at his hands. After a moment of silence, he started abruptly. "I forgot," he said, reaching down to rifle through his carry-on bag. He came up with a black leather wallet that Puck had thought he'd lost somewhere between the bar and their hotel room.

He took it from Kurt's hands, flashing a grateful smile at him. "Thanks. I was kinda bummed that I'd lost it." Kurt nodded, and Puck wondered what Kurt would say if he knew exactly what was in it; the real reason he was terrified that he'd lost it. 

He wondered if Kurt would pinch his lips closed, like he did when he didn't approve of something. But, maybe he'd understand. Puck shook himself out of the melancholy moment and stood, shoving the wallet into his back pocket.

Puck grabbed his lone bag and swung it over his shoulder. He glanced back to see Kurt frowning at a pile of luggage. With a roll of his eyes, Puck reached down and picked up a couple that didn't have the wheels on them. Kurt flashed a brilliant smile at him. Suddenly flustered, Puck moved quickly off of the bus.

He hauled Kurt's bags over to his SUV as the others climbed into their vehicles and took off for home. When Kurt unlocked the SUV, Puck tossed in the two bags he held, as well as the ones Kurt carried.

"So, great trip, huh?" Puck offered, and then wanted to immediately kick himself in the head. But Kurt just nodded, continuing to smile.

"I thought it was great."

"Yeah, well," Puck smirked. "I hear waffles will do that to you." Kurt snorted and smacked Puck lightly on the shoulder. He climbed into the SUV and waved as he drove away.

While Puck watched Kurt’s SUV fade into the distance, he became aware that he wasn’t the only Glee member left in the parking lot. He sighed, his head drooping just a bit, and then he turned around.

Finn stood, arms crossed, waiting by Puck’s truck. Puck walked over and threw his bag in the back, pointedly ignoring Finn’s presence. He fished his keys out of his front pocket, but when he reached for the door handle, Finn stopped him.

"What do you want with Kurt?" Finn demanded. Plain, to the point. Puck had to give him props. Of course, it had probably taken the whole bus ride for him to come up with it. And, more than likely, Rachel had given it to him.

"I don’t want anything with Kurt. I had some problems Friday night, he helped me out, now he thinks we’re friends. End of story." Puck reached for the door handle again, but this time, Finn leaned against the door.

"I don’t believe you."

Puck sighed. "Well, that’s too bad, Finn, because that’s the truth. Oh, and also? I don’t care if you believe me or not."

"You should," Finn said. "I can make your life miserable if I find out you’ve hurt Kurt." 

Puck snorted. "Really?" he asked, sarcastically. "More miserable than it is now? That’s quite the tall order, man." 

Finn narrowed his eyes. "You know what I think?" he asked, pushing off of the truck door to stand upright. 

"No, Finn. I don’t know what you think," Puck said, crossing his arms and meeting Finn’s eyes. "Most of the time, I don’t know _that_ you think, much less _what_ you think."

Finn opened his mouth to retort, and then paused, confusion crawling over his face. He shook it off and continued. "I think that you convinced Kurt to have sex with you last night."

"What?" Puck gave a bark of laughter. "Me? And Hummel? You’ve got to be shitting me."

"I’m completely serious, Puck. And it’s not like you haven’t done it before. You tried to do it with Rachel, but she stopped you. You tried it with Quinn. She couldn’t fight you off though."

"Fight me off?" Puck repeated incredulously. "What the fuck story did she lay out for you? Get your facts straight, man. I wasn’t alone in going too far that night. Quinn was right there with me. It takes two to tango and all that shit."

Finn shrugged. "You and the wine coolers don’t count."

Puck’s arms fell to his sides and he rolled his shoulders. "All the wine coolers did was help her forget for a minute that I wasn’t you. Rachel only agreed to go out with me because she couldn’t have you. And," Puck continued bitterly, "Even if I were into guys, there’s no way Kurt Hummel would sleep with me. He’s head over heels for you, too. Are you seeing a pattern here, Finn?"

Finn blushed. "Kurt doesn’t—"

"Bullshit," Puck snapped. "He worships the ground you walk on. They all do. You're perfect, fucking Finn Hudson who can do no wrong."

Finn shook his head, but Puck didn't give him a chance to open his mouth. "Even when everyone thought you were the father, all I ever heard them say was 'what a good guy, sticking with her through all of this. Paying for the doctor, holding her hand. He's trying so hard.'"

Puck rolled his eyes. "And what did they say about me when the truth came out? That I'm a deadbeat dick that raped your girlfriend. Well, I didn't rape your goddamned girlfriend, Finn." 

Puck's voice began to grow louder. "I offered, no, actually I _begged_ to help Quinn pay for the doctor. Even before you found out it wasn't yours. I wanted to be there for her. For my daughter. And she told me no; I'd never even get to see my own little girl. And now look where we are."

Puck swept his arm out, an all-encompassing gesture that made Finn flinch slightly. But, Puck didn't see it. He was drowning in his own misery. "Quinn was welcomed back into the bosom of her loving family. All of her bills are paid; all of her worries don't exist anymore. You got your broken heart kissed all better by Rachel. And everyone is happy because the golden boy quarterback ends up smelling like roses. Again."

Puck pulled his arm in and rubbed the back of his neck, briefly staring at the ground. "What about me? I'm the one that ends up smelling like shit. I'm the one who comes out of this without anyone loving me; accepting me. I'm the one who never gets to see his daughter."

Puck shook his head sadly. "You've ostracized me. Punched me. Talked smack about me. You've convinced them all that I'm the piece of shit everyone always thought I would be. No one trusts me. No one wants me. No one likes me."

"Kurt seems to," Finn defended himself weakly.

"Kurt felt sorry for me because I got shitfaced drunk and fell all over the hotel room puking my guts out. Kurt took care of me because that's what Kurt does. He saw a 'project' and jumped in with both feet."

Puck hooked a thumb into his jeans, occupying his hand before it found it's way into Finn's face. "But, does he really give a shit about me? Hell, no. Why should he? His golden idol told him I'm bad news. That I'm just going to taint him with my magical wand that turns everything in my life to shit."

"So then why was he hanging around you this morning? And on the bus?" Finn threw back at him.

"Hudson, I know you're slow, but fucking hell, you aren't retarded," Puck bit out. "He _feels sorry for me_. It won't last. He'll get bored. He'll move on and it will all go back to the way you planned."

Finn raised a hand, perhaps trying to make a point, but Puck was emotionally exhausted and didn't think he could handle one more stupid accusation today. "You've won already, Finn. And I lost. Now, can I go home so that my loving family can remind me what they hate about me, too?"

"Puck, I—"

"Save it, Finn. Okay? I don't want to hear it. I'm done."

He jerked his truck door open, making Finn jump back before Puck hit him with it. Puck climbed in the cab and slammed the door shut. He turned the truck on, threw it into gear and spun out on his way out of the parking lot.

Finn stared after him, bewildered.

___________________________________

After a fruitless weekend spent trying to figure out what intangible piece of Puck he seemed to be missing out on, Finn was ready to try this from the other direction. So, he found Kurt first thing Monday morning, pulling him into the empty English room.

"All right, Finn." Kurt frowned, brushing out imaginary wrinkles from his rough handling. "What is it that you wanted?"

"I had a talk with Puck Saturday, after we got back." Kurt's eyes narrowed, but Finn was oblivious. "I told him to back off of you." Kurt's face turned red and his nostrils flared. Finn stared for a moment. He'd never seen this look on Kurt's face before.

"What gives you the right to speak to anyone on my behalf, Finn?" Kurt forced through clenched teeth. "As of this morning, you weren't fucking me. You're fucking Rachel, remember?"

"Hey!" Finn protested. "I'm not fucking Rachel! And don't talk about her like that."

Kurt gave a tiny snort. "Oh, so you not only get to tell me who I can and can't spend time with, but now you get to tell me what I can say? Are you going to try to regulate my thoughts next?"

Finn sighed. "Kurt, I don't want to fight with you. Come on, don't be like this." Kurt tilted his chin up and put a hand on his hip.

"Don't be like what, Finn?" he asked. 

"Bitchy."

"Bitchy," Kurt repeated. "So, you get to be all white knight when someone says something bad about Rachel, but I can't do the same for Puck?"

"You're not dating Puck," Finn pointed out.

Kurt threw his other hand into the air. "So, that makes it okay to talk shit about him?" 

"You know what he did, Kurt. You know what he's like." Finn held out a hand, attempting to calm Kurt down.

"Actually, Finn, I don’t know what he's like." Kurt slapped Finn's hand away. "I know he did something very stupid that hurt a lot of people. I know he's sorry for that, but no one will let him apologize because they're too busy vilifying him!" Kurt shook his head in disgust.

"I know he's hurting; I know he loves his daughter--so fucking much, you can't even comprehend it. But, I don't know him. I don't think that anyone really does. But I would like to. I'd really like to get to know him. And I don't need your permission, or your unsolicited opinion. If you can't handle that, Finn Hudson, then you can just fuck off."

Once again, Finn was left staring at the back of a person he thought he'd understood. He knew he wasn't Einstein, but Jesus. Did he really have it this wrong?

____________________________________

Finn walked around in a confused daze for the rest of the day. He thought that if he could just talk to Kurt again, he could make some sense of this mess. 

Oh, and he could find out exactly what Kurt meant by words like 'vilifying' and 'unsolicited'. Although, he suspected they weren't good. The 'fuck off' at the end kind of let that slip.

But, Kurt was nowhere to be found. Or rather, Finn found him, but no one would let Finn talk to him. Mercedes and Tina ran interference all day. One would distract him while the other called Rachel. And really, how was he supposed to refuse those pretty, brown eyes and that adorable smile?

So, by the end of the day, his quest was still unfruitful. So, he hunted down the other half of the equation again. Finn stopped Puck as he was leaving the building. Puck rolled his eyes and tried to evade him, but Finn was having no more of that today, thank you.

"Puck! Stop!" he demanded, hoping Puck hadn't noticed the hint of whine in there. Regardless, Puck jerked to a halt and spun around.

"What the fuck do you want now, Finn?"

Although he thought he'd been expecting Puck to stop, apparently, he really hadn't been; when Puck turned to face him, Finn went blank. He furiously tried to think of some of the brilliant one-liners he'd come up with in Math, but ended up just saying, "Do you know where Kurt is?"

"Why the hell would I know where Hummel is?" Puck glared at him. "I thought I'd made it very clear that I am not fucking Kurt Hummel."

Finn waved his hand impatiently. "Yeah, I didn't say you were fucking him, I just asked if you knew where he is."

"What the fuck?" Puck laughed incredulously. "You practically accused me of raping him on Saturday."

Finn blushed. "Maybe I went a little too far with the accusations."

"A little?"

Finn frowned. "Kurt is my friend. I'm very protective. I just want the best for him."

"And I'm anything but the best," Puck finished for him.

"Puck, shut the fuck up." Finn said, frustrated. "I'm trying to say something important here. Now, I'm not…you know, like Kurt."

Puck cocked his head and put on a serious look. "No? And how is that? Gay? Intelligent? A snazzy dresser? A guy with the ability not to put his foot in his mouth every time it opens?"

Finn glared. "I meant gay."

"Ah," Puck smirked. 

"Anyway, I'm not gay, so I don't get what he sees in you—"

"So you have to be gay to find any good qualities in me?" Puck interrupted, the tiniest tinge of hurt coloring his voice.

"No! Jesus, shut up, Puck!" Finn yelled. "I don't get what he sees in you in a boyfriend kind of way." He took a deep breath. "But, that doesn't matter. If you're what Kurt wants, then I have no right to stand in your way."

"What the fuck are you talking about, Hudson?" Puck asked tiredly. "Kurt doesn't want me. He feels sorry for me. Big difference. Do you need me to draw you some pictures?"

"He doesn't feel sorry for you." Finn shook his head firmly.

"Whatever." Puck tried to turn away, but Finn grabbed his wrist. Puck looked slowly down at Finn's hand, and then raised an eyebrow. Finn huffed a sigh, but let go.

"He doesn't. He just ripped me a new asshole this morning for dissing on you."

"So, he seems to think were friends." Puck sighed. "I don't know why. I wasn't trying to encourage him."

"He told me I didn't know anything about you."

Puck laughed humorlessly. "Well, maybe you don't."

"So, who are you, then?"

"What the hell do you care?" Puck snapped back. "You have everything you wanted. Just fuck off and leave me alone." Finn fought against it, but in the end, a grin came over his face. "What the hell is so funny?" Puck demanded.

"Kurt told me to fuck off, too." Finn kept grinning at Puck until Puck's cold glare thawed a bit and a tiny, little smile could be seen.

"Yeah, that sounds like him," he agreed wryly.

"That's just it, Puck. It doesn't sound like him. Or at least it didn't."

"Ah, and we're back to besmirching his honor." Puck shook his head.

"I don't know what that means." Finn shrugged. "I do know that Kurt is smart. Way smarter than me; probably smarter than you. He's been picked on his whole life for being different, a lot of the time, by me and you."

He ducked until he forced eye contact with Puck. "He had the chance to get back at you when I went for open warfare on you. He could have treated you like something he scraped off his shoe. God knows, I'd have slapped him on the back and told him I was proud of him. But he chose to defend you, instead."

"I didn't ask him to," Puck pointed out again.

"I know. I know that you don't ask for anything. You either take what you want or you go without. So, if Kurt likes you, it's cause he wants to. Like I said, I don't get it. I don't even know that I want to. But Kurt says that I don't know you, that I never knew you. And he says he sees something in you."

"And that's that?" Puck asked skeptically. "You're just gonna believe that I'm a good guy way down deep; that I've been 'misunderstood', because Kurt Hummel told you so?" 

Finn shrugged again and smiled. "I think we’d all be better off if we just listened to the Kurt Hummels of the world. I mean, we really didn’t do so well on our own, did we? Before Glee? What did we have?" he spread his hands out. "Admit it, Puck. Glee changed us. I feel good, really good about myself for the first time."

 

"That makes one of us, Hudson," Puck said, snidely.

"Okay, Puck. I get it. I was a dick. I was pissed at you and I wanted everyone else to be pissed at you, too." 

"Well, congrats! It worked." Puck shifted his weight, scuffing the toe of his shoe on the asphalt.

"Not so much." Finn said, wryly. "At least, not on Kurt. I think you’re wrong about him, Puck. I don’t think he feels sorry for you at all. I think he honestly likes you. I don’t understand it, but then I don’t get how Rachel wants to be with me after I treated her like I used to, either."

He chuckled." Gleeks are a special kind of crazy, I think. And scary smart. So, if Kurt thinks I’m being an ass, I’m probably being an ass." He caught Puck's eyes again.

"But I’m not completely ready to forgive you, Puck. And, honestly? It’s not even because you cheated with Quinn. Though that was totally a douche move. I’m pissed because you were my best friend. I trusted you to _have_ my back, not sneak around behind it."

Puck couldn't keep the eye contact. He looked away, shame in every line of his face. "I’m sorry, Finn. I’m so sorry. I…I don’t—"

"No, I don’t care." Finn held up a hand again. "I really don’t care anymore why you did it. Wine coolers, heat of the moment, revenge…it doesn’t even matter anymore. I want to get past it. I’m going to try to get past it. I’m just not quite ready yet. But if Rachel can forgive me, and Kurt can forgive you…then I know we’ll get there eventually. Just don’t give up on me, okay?" he ended softly.

Puck nodded, glancing up, but forced to look away again. "So, truce?" Finn held his fist out. Puck nodded again, bumping Finn’s fist with his own.

"Yeah."

"Okay." Finn's face lit up in a smile. The one Puck had no resistance to. He tried to keep his face still, to hold on to his moment of vindication. But, in the end, he smiled back.

Finn looked satisfied. "So, I’m gonna go try to find Kurt and apologize. Catch you later?"

Puck shrugged. "Sure. I’ll be around." Finn gave a jaunty wave and walked away. After a few feet, he turned and walked backwards for a second.

"You really should think about it, man. I mean it," he called back. "Cause, brother, what I saw? It ain’t pity."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end.

Puck shut his locker and turned around to find Quinn and Santana practically standing on top of him. Several other Cheerios hovered behind the girls. Brittany hung in the back, looking unhappy and twisting her hands. Puck threw his bag over his shoulder and sighed. "What?" he asked tiredly. 

"So, Puck." Santana smiled wickedly. "When was it exactly that you went over to the other side?"

"And what side would that be, Santana?" Puck wished he could just plow through them, knocking them over like bowling pins.

"The side where you like dick, of course." Quinn exchanged a smirk with Santana. 

Of course. Puck pasted a smile on his face. "The only dick I like is my own." The girls eyed him skeptically. His facial muscles started hurting from the unfamiliar position. "I'm not gay," he added.

"Not gay?" Santana crossed her arms. "So then, you're just giving it to Kurt Hummel?" The smile dropped off of Puck's face, but Santana didn't stop. "I bet he's a screamer."

"Oh, Puck likes screamers." Quinn inserted, right on Santana's heels.

"Yes, he does," Santana agreed. "Does he scream your name, Puck?"

Quinn giggled. "I'd imagine he's so grateful to get laid, he'd scream the alphabet."

"Enough," Puck snapped. "Go ahead and give me shit; I'm pretty sure I've heard it all over the last few weeks. But you leave Hummel out of this."

"Oh, please," Santana snorted. "Does that line ever work?"

"I'm hoping for your sake it does this time." Puck shifted his bag and Quinn's eyes widened.

"What are you going to do if we don't? She smiled sweetly. "Are you going to hit us? That's not exactly Father of the Year behavior, is it?" 

"It is for his dad," Santana offered nastily. Puck sucked in a short breath.

"It doesn't really matter," Quinn continued, lifting her hand to inspect her nails. "It's not like I'm ever going to let you see her anyway. I'll tell her all about you, though. How you deserted her. Left me to raise her alone." Quinn looked up at Puck through lowered lashes. "I'll make it her bedtime story every night."

Puck's expression turned thunderous. He ground his teeth together; his empty hand clenched and unclenched at his side. He unconsciously swayed toward Quinn and she smiled delightedly. She leaned in as well, her eyes daring him to hit her.

Puck's muscles twitched and bunched with the effort it took to keep from hitting her, and all he could see was red. Then a cool rush of blue swept between him and Quinn. Blue sweater; blue scarf; blue eyes. Eyes that were looking worriedly into his as Kurt lay a gentle restraining hand on Puck's tensed forearm.

"Noah?"

Puck felt the red receding. and he held onto Kurt's gaze like a lifeline. He forced his muscles to relax one by one until he could breathe again. 

Kurt searched Puck's face, taking in his tight jaw; his nostrils flaring with every heaved breath. He waited until the flush of anger had gone and all that was left was sadness and inevitability. Then, Kurt turned to Quinn.

"You know, Noah may have some constraints preventing him from bitch-slapping you, Quinn. But I don't." Kurt's eyes moved from Quinn to Santana and then to the other Cheerios. "Even with your pregnancy. I'm pretty sure my gay card will trump your girl card, especially considering the girl goon squad you have back there." 

Kurt eyed them distastefully, ignoring the angry protests. "Nor can you say I'm bigger than you." He peered down his nose at her. "You definitely have that category won. Psst!" he added in a whisper. "You should really cut back on those cheese fries."

Quinn flushed angrily. "You little bitch! Fuck you and your Gucci sweater."

Kurt winced. "It's a Marc Jacobs, you plebian. Not a Gucci."

"Oh, my God, you are _so_ gay!" Quinn marveled.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Wow," he deadpanned. "What an intuitive leap that must have been for you, Quinn. Do tell…what gave it away?"

"Go ahead and be smug, bitch." Quinn sneered at both Kurt and Puck. "Just remember, you're banging my leftovers."

Kurt's eyes widened. "Really? Well," he shrugged. "I suppose I'd be hard-pressed to find someone you _couldn't_ consider your leftovers. For the president of the celibacy club, you really do get around quite a bit.

This time, Quinn's hands clenched at her sides. Kurt smiled brilliantly. "Well, my work here is done! Come along, Noah." He linked his arm through Puck's. "Let's go before the cheap scent of knock off perfume gives me a headache."

He spun them around and sashayed about ten feet, then stopped. "Oh," he called, turning his head back. "One more thought, ladies. You should really do some group brainstorming. First, because I'm pretty sure it will take all of you to come up with an intelligent answer; second, whatever must you be doing wrong, if Noah ended up with the gay kid?"

He turned his head forward again and calmly led Puck down the hall to a cacophony of infuriated shrieks. Puck walked stiltedly beside him, moving only because of the pressure of Kurt's hand on his arm. 

They continued around a corner and Puck visibly wilted. "It's okay," Kurt murmured, ignoring the interested looks they were getting. "Just keep moving. Don't let them see you go down." Puck tried to straighten up, but it was as if a heavy weight were between his shoulders.

Kurt pulled him through the halls and down to the library. They slipped in unnoticed, and Kurt led them to the couches in the back. When he let go of Puck's arm, Puck continued standing. Kurt gave him a small shove and he toppled over onto the couch.

"It's really okay," he said again. "She called you some shitty things, yes; but you weren't slushed. In geekdom, we call that a win." Kurt smiled at Puck's snort.

"I want to go back and punch her in the face," Puck said quietly. "What kind of guy am I that I want to punch out the pregnant mother of my child?

"A perfectly normal one, from what I can see." Kurt shrugged. "I'm pretty sure that even the most loving of couples wants to punch each other out at times. The trick is to ignore your baser instincts and think about what kind of a shitstorm you'll dredge up if you follow through."

Kurt grinned. "Besides, I just called her fat, stupid and totally not hot. If there ever were a time to avoid Quinn Fabray, it's after a trifecta of insults like that."

Puck nodded and leaned back into the couch, his hands lying limply on his denim-covered thighs. "She thrives on conflict. Give her a day or so and she'll bounce back into insulting me." He chuckled. "And boy, does she have some material, now."

"What material?" Kurt frowned. 

Puck looked incredulously at him. "You do realize that you just announced to the biggest gossips on the planet that I decided to go gay for you?" Puck watched the color drain from Kurt's face. "Are you okay?" he asked, concerned.

"I'm so sorry, Noah." Kurt brought his hand up to cover his mouth. "I wasn't thinking. She was just so snide and horrible, and I found myself in a catfight before I knew it. I'm sorry. Please forgive me."

Puck rolled his eyes and reached out to tug Kurt closer. He frowned when Kurt flinched. "What the hell, Hummel? You still think I'm gonna hit you?" Kurt watched a flash of hurt chase over Puck's face before Puck jerked his arm back.

"I think everyone's going to hit me," Kurt countered. "When you're me, it pays to be prepared." Puck stared at him so long that Kurt started to fidget, then blush. "What? Just get it over with, whatever it is."

Puck shook his head and reached out again to pull Kurt over. "I'm not gonna hit you, Kurt. Ever. You don't have to be afraid of me." Kurt let Puck drag him up against his side and drape his arm over Kurt's shoulder.

"You know," Puck added, giving Kurt a squeeze, "I could do a helluva lot worse than being gay with you." Puck could see the glimmer of a smile on Kurt's face, but Kurt refused to look at him.

"Really?" Kurt asked quietly.

"Yeah, really." And there was that smile that Puck had been waiting for; the close-mouthed, bunchy cheeked, crinkled eyes smile.

Yeah. Really.  
____________________________________

Finn pushed through the sea of white and red, a determined set to his chin. His eyes darted from one girl to the next, searching for the one Cheerio who wouldn't be in uniform.

When Brittany had come to him that afternoon, Finn had been sure that Quinn had sent her to spy on him and Rachel. He was all set to tell her where to go, when Rachel stepped in. 

He must be the luckiest guy in the world. Not only was Rachel pretty and talented, she was smart, too. She told him to just hear Brittany out, and he was glad he'd listened to her.

Brittany was a little hesitant about talking and Finn couldn't blame her. They both knew what she was in for if the Shrew Tribe ever found out that she'd come to him. But Brittany was a rare commodity: a cheerleader with a conscience.

She hadn't liked the idea in the first place, that Quinn was going to keep the baby from her dad; but now, Quinn was rubbing his nose in it and that didn't sit well with Brittany.

So, here Finn was, braving the estrogen camp to find Quinn. He eventually discovered her holding court on the freshman stairs. He waited patiently, arms crossed and a scowl on his face, until Quinn glanced over and saw him.

He nodded to her. "Quinn, can we talk for a minute?" It was almost embarrassing how quickly she flew to his side, shoving her disciples out of her way.

"Sure, Finn." She smiled up at him and followed him through the hallway. He stopped at the music room and ushered her in. He shut the door behind them and when he turned around, the body hurtling into him startled him.

"Oh, Finn," she kept saying as she attempted to kiss every inch of skin on his neck. "I knew you'd come to your senses."

"Quinn, stop!" He peeled her off him and held her at arm's length. "Come to my senses about what?"

Quinn laughed. "About us, stupid." 

Finn shook his head sadly. "No, Quinn. I really haven't.

"What?" Quinn asked, confusion scrunching her nose in that way he'd always thought adorable. He felt good, actually sort of peaceful, when he realized that look didn't affect him anymore.

"I'm not here to make up with you. I'm with Rachel, now. We're happy."

Quinn sneered, jerking her arms loose of his grip. "Rachel," she spat. "Well, I'm so very happy for the two of you. Where should I send the fruit basket?" Finn blinked a few times, trying to process the difference between her words and the tone in which they were delivered.

"Oh, never mind," she sighed. "What do you want, Finn?"

"I want you to lay off of Puck.

Quinn snorted. "Hell to the no on that, sweetie."

"Why?" 

"Why?" Quinn frowned. "He ruined my life? Isn't that enough?"

"He didn't do that all on his own, you know," Finn pointed out.

"No, he got his friends Bartles and James to help." 

Finn's brow crinkled in confusion. "Who are Bartles and James? Do they go to McKinley?"

"Oh. My. God." Quinn heaved a put upon sigh, and lowered her expanding body into a music chair. "You really are as dumb as a rock, aren't you?"

"I was smart enough to get rid of you," Finn retorted.

Quinn gave a small cry and held the back of her hand to her mouth. Finn shook his head.

"Knock it off. You don't get to call me names and just expect me to take it anymore."

Quinn's hand came down and she glared at him. "Whatever. Puck screwed my life up, and I'm going to make him pay."

Finn frowned. "Do you really think this mess is all him? That you had nothing to do with it?"

"He got me drunk!" Quinn raised her voice. "He took advantage of me."

"Don't give me that," Finn shook his head. "Not once in your entire life has Quinn Fabray ever done something she didn't want to do. He came on to you. Okay, I give you that. But," he continued, "You accepted. And when it was impossible to hide the truth, you did what you always do, Quinn. You saved your own ass."

Quinn gasped, but Finn didn't even slow down. "You were supposed to love me. But you cheated on me, you lied to me and you used me."

"What else was I supposed to do, Finn?" Quinn yelled.

"You could have told the truth, Quinn." Finn said reproachfully.

"And then where would I be? You'd have dumped me, and I'd be alone raising this stupid baby."

"Puck tried to help you."

Quinn laughed harshly. "Are you insane? Puck as a father?"

"Why not?" Finn demanded. "He couldn’t be any worse of a father than I would have been."

"He's a slut, Finn," Quinn pointed out slowly.

"That doesn't automatically make him a bad father."

"What? What the hell is wrong with you?" Quinn screamed. 

Finn exploded. "What the hell is wrong with _you_? You don't even _want_ this baby! You made that pretty clear when you sold her to Mrs. Shuester. But then, Mr. Shue left her and now _she_ doesn't want the baby either. Your parents don't want her. They're already making plans to have her adopted! I loved her, but she's not really mine and I just don't think I can get past that."

Finn stepped closer, yelling into Quinn's startled face. "The only goddamned one who _wants_ her is Puck! Don't lie to my face and tell me you won't let him have her because he's a bad father. He knows what a bad dad is. He had one. He's _not_ going to do that to his little girl." 

Quinn tried to speak, but Finn just cut her off again. "The only reason you won't let him have her is revenge. You talk about Puck being a shitty parent? What kind of mom uses her own daughter to get even with a one-night stand? Jesus Christ, Quinn. For the sake of that little girl, pull your head out of your ass!"

For long moments, there was only the sound of harsh breathing. "When did you and Puck kiss and make up?" Quinn asked, bitterly.

Finn sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Just leave him alone, Quinn." He waited for a response, but the silence had fallen again. He let himself out of the room. He could feel dozens of curious eyes on him as he walked away.

He was pretty sure they'd heard most of that. Doors are only so thick, and he and Quinn had been screaming awfully loud. No one stopped him to ask, though, and Quinn didn't follow him out. 

He hoped like hell that something, _anything_ had gotten through Quinn's closed doors.  
________________________________

Kurt found out that Finn had gone to talk to Quinn, but he didn't really know what he'd said. The gossipers couldn’t hear everything, after all. But, over the next few days, he saw Finn's words work wonders.

Quinn was quieter. Kurt watched her watching Puck and hatred no longer marred her pretty face. Kurt even caught Quinn looking at him a couple of times, though that was hardly surprising. He now spent the majority of his time with Puck. 

He still disagreed daily with Mercedes and Tina about their wrongwrongwrong views on fashion; but now Puck was chiming in with his completely ridiculous two cents. The very existence of that Mohawk proved he was ill equipped to have an opinion.

Kurt still pushed Artie to class and jammed with him nearly every day, now that the wheelchair ramp allowed Artie access to the auditorium. Artie played bass, Kurt was on piano, and Puck surprised them both by asking if he could play his guitar with them.

Kurt even spent some quality time with Finn and Rachel. When they weren't turning his stomach with their make-out sessions, he found he could say that they were good for each other. And Finn worked every day to mend the rift between him and Puck.

Occasionally, Matt and Mike would swing by the lunch table or the afternoon jams. Puck was wary at first, but Matt and Mike never pushed and, eventually Puck relaxed. Some of the old football camaraderie surfaced.

Slowly, the world settled back onto its axis, and Puck ceased to be such a social leper. And so, Kurt waited everyday for Puck to walk away from their friendship and back into his old life. But Puck acted like it wasn't even an option.

Eventually, Quinn became less quiet, less sad. Kurt saw a resigned peace taking the place of anger and hurt. But as much as Quinn watched Puck, Kurt saw Puck watching her in return. 

Kurt felt inexplicably sick the first few times, but then he noticed that Puck wasn't actually looking at Quinn, but rather at Quinn's belly which grew bigger every week.

Sometimes, after prolonged staring, Puck would disappear. The first time he couldn't be found, Kurt tore the school apart trying to find him. Eventually, Kurt located him in the music room, absently fingering his wallet and humming snitches of lullabies.

Near the end of Quinn's pregnancy, she sent Brittany with a message to talk to Puck alone at lunch; to meet her at his truck. She wanted to go somewhere more private to talk. 

Kurt smiled and nodded and sent Puck back to Quinn's side. Then he took his turn in the safety of the music room. He was grateful, but not surprised when, one by one, the Gleeks crept into the room and sat silent vigil with him until their next class.

He didn't see Puck the rest of the day. By the end, Kurt was so on edge that everyone was tiptoeing around him. After school, he trudged miserably out to the parking lot. There, leaning against Kurt's SUV, was Puck.

He had a huge grin on his face, and when Kurt drew near, Puck snatched him up and twirled him in a circle. 

"Put me down, you ridiculous oaf," Kurt demanded. Puck set him back on his feet and returned to grinning at him.

"Do you know where I've been all afternoon?" Puck grinned. 

"Other than 'not here'?" Kurt replied snippily. "No."

Puck ignored his tone. "I went to a lawyer's office and signed custody papers with Quinn."

Kurt's animosity drained away like water and he grinned back at Puck. "Noah! That's amazing. Congratulations!"

He threw his arms around Puck's neck and let Puck swing him one more time. "She gave me joint custody! I can have a say in how my daughter is raised." Puck leaned his head back and howled out his joy.

"Oh, Noah! I'm so happy for you!" Kurt smiled, clasping his hands together so he wouldn't reach out to touch just one more time. 

"I think this calls for a celebration," Puck announced.

"You tell me where and when and whom to invite and I'll be sure they’ll be there with bells on." Kurt was already detailing caterers in his head when Puck stepped closer to him. Kurt's thoughts faltered and then stopped, falling victim to Puck's nearness.

"How about tonight, 8 o'clock at that foofy restaurant you've been talking about for weeks?"

Kurt could only blink for a moment, made stupid by the husky tone of Puck's voice and the heavy-lidded look Puck was aiming at him. "A-All right," Kurt stammered. "A bit short on the notice, but I'll figure something out. W-Who do you want to invite?" Kurt meeped as Puck grabbed his coat lapels and reeled Kurt in.

Puck was so warm and strong, and he smelled so good. Kurt hoped the guest list was short because, at this rate, he'd be lucky to remember his own name. 

"Just you."

"J-Just me?" Kurt hoped he was still speaking English. Puck leaned in to breath in Kurt's ear, and Kurt could feel Puck's smirk against his cheek as Kurt gave a full body shudder.

"Just you," Puck whispered.

"I-Is this a d-date?" Kurt managed to whisper back, his eyes falling closed.

"Do you want it to be?"

"God, yes. Please." Kurt whimpered. Puck chuckled and Kurt could feel the vibration traveling through to his own chest.

"Then, yeah. This is a date." Kurt nodded frantically, nearly moaning in loss when Puck pulled back and took a step away. Kurt's eyes snapped open, and he watched Puck walk backwards to his truck.

"I'll pick you up, okay?" Puck called. Kurt nodded again, not sure what might come out if he tried using actual words. "Oh, and Kurt?" 

"Mmm? Kurt squeaked.

"Wear that Marc Jacobs sweater of yours. And that scarf. I like them." His smile turned a bit bashful. "They're blue."


End file.
